Less than 400
by Goodnight little everything
Summary: A series of oneshots that are each less than 400 words long. Rated T for possible later chapters.
1. too far gone

Wrapped in silk was his ability to cling to life. Grasping hands reached out from the deep recesses of his mind, trying to hold the dearest in an envelope, closely held to his still-beating heart, which would soon stop.

Someone was gazing down on him, holding his head in hand, cheek cupped with metallic grasp. These green eyes, shining in a melancholy manner, focused on him without any fear - without any fear of him, of course. The manner in which he held his head was like holding a delicate flower - the fear of dropping was a deafening fear of loss.

Blood slipped through his fingers, thick and ugly and red.

Blood slipped through _his_ cheek, staining and breathing and alive.

It was stealing his life, and soon it would seep into the earth.

"You cannot die," the green-eyed metallic creature choked. "Please, do not die."

But he's dying for him. He's dying for him and the other creatures he saved. Is that good enough not to plead? He didn't want him to plead. He didn't want him to beg him to cling to life.

_Drip, drip._

"You've been a great pal, Clank." His chin felt tingly as a sensation trailed down it, a red sensation, a liquid sensation. He felt his heart was melting. He felt his lung was melting. It was melting for him. It was melting for_ them_, for everyone. It was melting, and he was afraid to stop it, or at least try.

He felt a grasp at his other cheek - the robot was literally cupping his face. He didn't complain, though. He was too far gone.

"This is not like you, Ratchet." The robot's voice edged desperation. "This is _not_ like you."

Perhaps it took losing himself for him to recognize what was truly important to him?

The silky thread, which had been very tempting when he had been fighting for the very thing he was losing now, seemed to fade to him. He couldn't see beyond the clear blue, the calming, calming blue which he sought out, which he wanted to grasp and hold with his hand. _Beautiful blue beautiful blue._ The comforting caress of black started to shield his eyes.

"Clank... I'm sorry for being such a jerk to you."

"It does not matter to me anymore! I just want you to live. Please-"

"'Bye..."

He grabbed the blue.

**xox 398.**


	2. you're okay

The trade of fate was twisted and full of knots. Continuously it streamed impossibilities, and yet it seems like that it was meant to happen, no matter how improbable it initially is taken as.

He never imagined that he would _ever_ meet up with his deceased friend's son. Yet, it seemed as if it was bound to happen at some time – if not then, then sometime in the distant future, or perhaps sometime in the distant past. He had lost grip on time itself, so it was hard to determine. Time moved on and changed anything that it touched. It certainly had changed him, and it certainly had changed the young Lombax whose head was in his lap.

Whenever he peered down at the face of him, he was always brought back to _him_, to his old friend. And yet he knew somewhere deep within him that the two were very different. He couldn't help but see his friend within his friend's son – his heart ached just thinking about it. He knew that he had to look at him as his own being, however, because that's what he was.

The young Lombax grew up without a father. He couldn't imagine what that must've felt like. He had felt the ache of loneliness _too well_, knowing that the rest of his race was gone – but what about the young Lombax who was now asleep, his hand curled over his face, his head resting on the General's legs? For years, he didn't even know what a Lombax _was_, let alone had met one. He had been alone for a good majority of his life, and in fact, the General was probably the only Lombax he had ever met. He didn't know his family, he didn't know who his family friends were – he didn't even know his race. Alister's expression softened as he gazed upon the twenty-one-year-old Lombax. If that was the case, then he'd have to take the place of those Lombaxes – he owed it not just to him, but to Kaden as well. By Kaden, he would protect him.

But first, he had business to take care of.

He didn't want to wake the sleeping form of Ratchet, but he knew he had to move him. Carefully, he placed his left arm around Ratchet's shoulders and right arm around Ratchet's chest, and gently placed him on the ground. _You're okay._

**xox 399.**


	3. reality

There is a fine line between reality and dreams. It is rather bold in stature, a wall-like barrier that prevents movement between worlds, and it can only be crossed when one is launched into the world of sub-conscious – asleep, in other words. Many people say that they will cross that line one day – in fact, this is the main goal in a lot of our lives. But no matter how much these same people grasp for the portal that transcends this line, long to see the path between the two, they can't find it, let alone walk it.

The Lombax had run his hand along the barrier many times, for he himself could not see it. He would be considered the closest to crossing this boundary, but no matter how close he was to it, he couldn't seem to cross the line. Every time he felt it pricking along his fingers, his mind closed it off, accepting it only as a figment of his imagination, and thus bringing him back to the cruel chasms that is reality. If that wasn't the worst aspect of it, he could never even consider going further, because of a certain tiny robot constantly accompanying him a bit as his shadow by his side.

He could hear his own footsteps along the metallic ground, but he couldn't hear his own heartbeat. He could only do that if he escaped reality and entered the world of dreams. He could hear the breathing behind the cage of the wall, and he could feel it – he could sense it and smell it with his nose, and he could practically taste the moisture of life behind the metal. But no matter what he did, he couldn't see it, and he couldn't attach himself to it. He was tired of the constant sound of gunshot, the constant feeling of blood, and he just wished he could see the wonders beyond that rusty gate, and just plain dream again.

But no matter how much he longed for it, he couldn't see it at all – because you can only use the senses you can use in reality, no more.

**xox 357.**


	4. fretful

She couldn't help but fret over him, ever since _his_ disappearance. Whenever she could not capture him in her radar, she panicked as she thought of what he could be doing at the moment. She couldn't help it, really – after all, she had lost a charge once before, and she didn't want to go down the same road. Admittedly, the previous charge that she had lost had gone down by fire rather than… the special circumstances she thought she would lose this one, but still, it didn't change the fact that she was rather frantic whenever he decided to pull a disappearing act. Of course, she did feel guilty for assuming that he would do such a vile act, especially with all his friends surrounding him, but the thought would not go away from her neural processors, and it bothered her to such an extent that at times, others would even accuse her of being a worrywart.

Not that she really minded. As long as she could keep a sort of "eye" on him, it didn't really matter, anyhow.

Ah, and there he was! She "spotted" him passing by her muzzle, his teal-green eyes glazed over as they were usually were these days, slightly trembling as the wind buffeted the both of them. She felt disheartened as he did not even spare her a glance or a word as he just looked down into the clouds below the bridge. She did not dare the break the silence, and instead hovered absently behind him, watching him closely to see what he would do. The look in his eyes and the place his eyes were directed… it almost bristled her, and she wanted to make sure he wouldn't do anything drastic.

Several minutes passed by before anything broke the silence.

"Do you think Clank is… having fun wherever he is?" He sounded so tiny…

Oh, no. "I am not sure," she replied as honestly as she could.

"Do you think he… misses me… at all?" Her metaphorical heart nearly broke as he turned his head and looked straight at her, his eyes almost swimming.

_Please, don't look at me like that._

"Who wouldn't miss you?" Why was her voice so weak?

He stared at the abyss again, justifying her once more. She couldn't help but fret over him, especially since she couldn't help him like his best friend could.

**xox 397. **


	5. he remembered as always

**Warning – Ratchet x Talwyn. Skip over this one if you don't like that pairing. (Don't worry; it is likely that I will write about your favorite pairing, because I personally don't have a favorite myself, and I write about whatever pairing that I'm in the mood to write about.)**

He remembered the first time that he met her – her eyes sparkling like diamonds, a playful expression on her face as he teased him about his inability to grasp just what he was. He remembered the time he had rescued her from Zordoom Prison – her grin spreading from ear to ear, her light words traveling to his ears. He remembered the time he honestly thought his best friend was gone – how she widened her eyes in sympathy, comforting him as he brokenly murmured, "Clank's… gone."

And he remembered the hurt, almost _destroyed _expression manifesting on her face as he told her to stay away, that the road to find said friend would have unexpected turns, and he didn't want to lose her.

As always, he didn't know what to do after that. As he steered Aphelion, who seemed distressed at his silence—like always—Ratchet couldn't stop thinking about her. He couldn't stop imagining her eyes full of tears as Cronk and Zephyr comforted her, and couldn't stop hurting at the surprising amount of doubt at the question of whether or not she would forgive him. It constantly tore at him to know that he was the source of whatever pain that she was undoubtedly feeling right at the moment. He didn't even bother to give her a _call _after the one in which he told her, in short, to "back off."

His hand hovered over the comm. screen. As always, however, his emotions welled up within his chest, making him choke as many scenarios of how the Apogee would react to his sudden call ran rampant in his head. As always, he drew his hand back, and brushed it off as a "maybe later."

He turned the channel on the radio, the slight screeching sound that followed, as always, hurting his ears. Like he always did, he listened to the song and was dimly aware of the announcer speaking the song's name.

He remembered his surprise when, _not _like always, Talwyn's name was announced as she apparently called into the radio station to play a song dedicated to him. He remembered the smile that graced his face, his heart glowing, as he called his old girlfriend again.

**xox 368.**


End file.
